Inside the atlas
by ZoZo
Summary: What happens to ripped pages?
1. Introduction

-Introduction-  
  
-I have no idea where this came from. It just sort of popped into my head. I would recommend having knowledge of at least two of the following, or it really won't make any sense. I kidnapped characters from: X Men Lord of the Rings (JRR Tolkein) Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (JK Rowling) Emma (Jane Austen) Charlotte Gray (Sebastian Faulks) The Duchess of Malfi (John Webster) Riders (Jilly Cooper)  
  
And I also nicked a few names out of some Beatles songs, just for the hell of it. I don't own anything which pops up in this fic, much as I wish I do.-  
  
Eleanor Rigby was having a bad day. One of those terrible days which involved destruction and mayhem. As the mother of a three-year-old, this shouldn't really be unusual, especially as her own three-year-old most probably had ADHD and enjoyed smashing things up.  
  
This evening, Jude had decided it would be fun to tear pages out of books. Eleanor had been enjoying a quiet cigarette and a cup of coffee (which one needed to keep up with Jude), having thought he was comfortably settled in front of the television watching some sort of inappropriately violent show. Once the Marlboro Light was finished and there wasn't even a drop of coffee left in the cup, she wandered back in to the living room and discovered her son grinning, surrounded by books and pieces of paper.  
  
"I can read," Jude said, though it was evident that he could not, as reading did not entail tearing up books, unless Eleanor had learned to read entirely the wrong way. She picked up her nightmare child and told him to go to his room. It was no use shouting at the kid, as that generally made him behave in an even worse manner.  
  
Now to survey the pile of books. A few she'd never read and kept on the bookshelf (how had Jude reached that, anyway?). One or two which she had read on holiday. Lord of the Rings. Eleanor didn't really care about that one, as it had been far too heavy to read. Oh no. Her prized copy of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Eleanor had queued up outside the book shop at midnight for that one. Read it all night. Read it again just to make sure she hadn't missed anything. At least there were only a couple of pages on the floor. And it got worse. Eleanor had been a comic collector for a number of years, and thought her collection was out of reach of Hurricane Jude. Evidently it wasn't. Bang went the value on that. Bollocks.  
  
Eleanor picked up the debris on the floor. It really wasn't that bad; only a few pages here and there. It was just going to be a hassle sellotaping it all back together. And she really didn't have the time tonight. She had a date, the babysitter would be along soon, and she was still wearing her dressing gown.  
  
And so Eleanor gathered up the detached pages and put them all inside the largest book she owned; the world atlas. 


	2. Confusion

Rupert Campbell-Black awoke to find himself rather wet. In fact, on closer inspection, he was lying in the sea. Highly irregular. He wondered exactly what he had done the night before  
  
Hang on. What was he floating on, precisely?  
  
Ah. The words "Atlantic Ocean". Of course.  
  
Wait. That wasn't right.  
  
Yes it was. And, on closer inspection, the "sea" was only about two feet deep and Rupert could quite easily wade to the nearest land mass. A very scaled-down Africa where there were all sorts of freaks, seated on brightly- coloured countries and looking as confused as he felt. He sat down on the purple South Africa and decided to find out what the hell was going on.  
  
*  
  
"Where are we?" Draco Malfoy whined.  
  
"It would appear that we're in an atlas," Hermione Granger responded. She was not best pleased about being trapped in this strange world with only Draco Malfoy for company. In fact, she would rather have her toenails ripped out and fed to her than spend time with this boy.  
  
"And how, exactly, are we going to get out of the atlas?" Draco asked rudely.  
  
"If I knew that, I'd be out of here," Hermione replied tartly. "But the fact is I don't have a clue."  
  
"Aha! For once she doesn't know!"  
  
"No, I don't know. And if I do work out how to get out of here, you're not coming with me."  
  
"That's just bitchy," Draco said. "What would Potter say if he found out you'd left me stranded in this place and weren't the good girl you pretend to be?"  
  
"He would probably be proud," Hermione replied, sitting down on Baghdad to try and work out what she could possibly do to escape from Draco.  
  
"And do you know what? I'm hungry. What exactly are we supposed to eat?"  
  
"I don't know, Malfoy," Hermione sighed. She was also hungry. Perhaps she could Transfigure Draco into a roast dinner. "But I'm sure Dumbledore will get us out if he finds out we're missing. Or maybe your father can work his magic, as he seems to be able to do anything he pleases?"  
  
*  
  
Rupert decided he would probably quite like this brave new world. Also in Africa with him were several rather lovely young ladies. He had met Emma, who was rather old-fashioned, but absolutely gorgeous nonetheless. The dress she wore really showed off a good cleavage, and Rupert was sure her prim and proper act was just that: an act.  
  
Charlotte Gray, the Scottish one, seemed a little hung up on some other fellow, but Rupert believed he could get her over this bloke really easily.  
  
But the one who Rupert was really intrigued by was the one who insisted on being called "Duchess". She proclaimed to have been the dowager of some Italian county Rupert had never been skiing in and didn't believe actually existed. She also claimed to have been about to die when she had suddenly appeared in this strange land, and was still sulking because her husband died.  
  
Rupert felt he had a pretty good chance with this girl.  
  
*  
  
While most people were rather affronted to have been snatched away from their stories, one person was utterly thrilled to be away from it all. Boromir, son of Denethor, was pleased to have escaped a hero's death, all in the name of appearing in a bizarre, brightly coloured land.  
  
"Do you know what," Legolas asked. Boromir had no idea why Legolas was with him, or why they could suddenly speak an entirely different language that bore no resemblance to either Westron or any of the Elvish tongues.  
  
"What's that, my dear?" Boromir winced at the affection coming out of his mouth, but didn't really care. He was just thrilled to be away from death. And, without the lure of evil jewellery, he was quite an affable man.  
  
"I do believe we're in Valinor. Look at the shape of the land."  
  
Legolas wandered along the coast, which had strange words etched into it. Words such as "Florida". Very bizarre. "It's not like it's supposed to look," Legolas added.  
  
"I don't see any elves," said Boromir, disappointed, as everyone knew elf women were the prettiest.  
  
"Peculiar," Legolas continued. "I don't know what's wrong. Especially why I'm speaking like this. And where did all the orcs go?"  
  
"Who cares?" Boromir said cheerfully. "It's lovely here. Look, in the distance! There's someone else." Someone was fast approaching them. "Is he an elf?"  
  
"No," Legolas said, "and I saw him ages ago," he added petulantly. "He's not an elf. His ears aren't pointy."  
  
"How am I supposed to see his ears at this distance?"  
  
"Mortals and their pathetic senses," Legolas sniffed.  
  
"Is it female?"  
  
"Male. Red hair."  
  
"Yes, yes, I can see now."  
  
"Mortals and their-"  
  
"Pathetic senses, yes, elf, yes. Hello there."  
  
"Are we in Valinor?" the elf added.  
  
"No," the new person said. "I don' know where dis is. Though I'm standing on N'Awlins 'cording to this writing. Dis sure ain't N'Awlins."  
  
"Sorry," said Boromir very slowly, "what language are you speaking?"  
  
"Gambit is speaking English," the stranger replied. "Anyway, who de hell are you?"  
  
"Boromir, son of Denethor."  
  
"Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood."  
  
"Remy LeBeau. Gambit."  
  
"That's a stupid name," Boromir said.  
  
"An' Boromir isn'?"  
  
"Stop fighting, you two," Legolas said in a very maternal manner. "Now, Boromir, if we're here, there must be other people here. So let's look for them. Where did you come from Master- LeBeau?"  
  
"Over dere," Remy replied, pointing vaguely north. "Nobody else is dere. I looked."  
  
"Well, then we must go over the sea!" Legolas exclaimed brightly. Boromir rolled his eyes. All Legolas ever talked about was going over the sea. 


End file.
